


The Ten

by daalny



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daalny/pseuds/daalny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A charity benefit for wounded soldiers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ten

**James**

I find myself a bit of a contradiction. I strive for order, putting back into place my tools and most things. It’s amusing that I can never put myself back into place as I am always getting lost. Perhaps I have a deep-seated psychological issue and my compulsion for order is an attempt in and of itself a way to “find” myself. Perhaps it’s not any of those things. The issue of finding myself wormed its way into my head after I cut my hair. Hammond also shorn his locks but he said it was due to his midlife crisis. I cut my hair because I was a bit sick of it especially when I started having to buy the girls elastic band clips from Boots. Nonetheless, after Hammond had mentioned midlife crisis I started thinking. Is this all there will ever be? I’m nearly 50. Never married, no children. James May forever a bachelor? I think back to when I was younger as to what I really wanted and it was music. A famous musician, that is what I wanted to be but at that age I thought I couldn’t. That I wasn’t good enough. My other passion, cars, wormed it’s way to the forefront yet when I went to University I did not pick communications so I could become an automotive journalist I chose music.

Sometimes I think _Why the bloody hell did you do that?_ I’m not thinking of ditching the life I have for a musical one but at this moment I wonder what would have been like if I had been a musician.

I sternly begin to ignore my piano; I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to think as to what I could have been. I move to the kitchen but somehow I can feel it looking at me. I grab a bottle of Paso Robles Red and sneak by the instrument. Generally I don’t drink in my bedroom but I can’t stand the piano. I pour the red and subconsciously swirl it, the first swallow is nice and take my time with the glass. I have no idea why I don’t pour more. “Bugger” I mutter to no one. I shuck off my shirt and toss it in the hamper, next go my jeans. I pull back the covers on my bed and get in, the night clothes be damned.

Not having a hangover means I’m up early and with nothing to do I go for a bike ride. I just pedal at any pace I want I’m bored mostly. I notice more on the bike, a new off licence is being put it, good thing to remember. I have hours to kill; tonight is the gala for the wounded Soldiers. Clarkson is going, Hammond attended another benefit for the Soldiers prior in the year so he could be with his family, apparently Izzy was in the school play. Thinking of Jeremy makes me smile but it also is dangerous. My daydreaming almost has been hitting a fiat, I veer off but I know it was a Punto not a 500.

I bike back to the house, I don’t bother washing up yet since It’ll be ages and I’ll just have to do it again. I’m tempted to work on the bikes but grease rarely gets out from under the fingernails in just one day and who knows how many hands I’ll shake. Instead I decide to tackle my music library. There are pages of sheet music sticking out of the piano bench, half composed scores for Man Lab and other things I’ve been working on but never really panned out. A quick rifling in the garage and I find a bankers box and start separating actual music from junk.

Round five I get up and shower, taking the time to shave properly. I find my tux in the back of the wardrobe and pull it on. My mobile vibrates and spins, I grab it.  
 _May, it’s Clarkson be there in five_

“Roger” I acknowledge.

It actually takes less than five minutes and before I exit I attack my clothes with a lint roller. I open the door, curse when I drop my keys but then quickly retrieve them to engage the lock. I ignore the laughing but part of me is cheered up. Jeremy hasn’t laughed in over a month, not since his divorce was finalized.

"Oh, May!” He snorts wiping his eyes, “That was funny.” He shouts as he leans over to pull the door handle. The silver door pops open and I slide in.

I should be angry at his laughter but I’m not. It took a conversation rivaling a UN session to get him to come out tonight for this gala. Hopefully the paparazzi will be more focused on the event. The gala was at an upscale London Hotel, a valet service was picking up the cars and it was reluctantly that Jeremy surrendered his keys. Making our way toward the entrance we are approached by a woman who examines our wristbands before securing the flash of orange around us.

Inside the hall Jeremy seems to grow 5 centimeters, he always does well in crowds something I envy. I have to steel myself to mingle. Luckily the co-chairs of the event soon intercept us. The two men escort Jeremy to shake hands with some dignitary while I’m left with one of the wives--Bernice. We exchange pleasantries about the event she thanks me and makes me promise to thank Richard and Jeremy on her behalf for our donation. I think of all that Jeremy has done, using the Military in Top Gear to highlight the attributes of a car. Hammond even got soldiers into a car for lessons it strikes me that I really haven’t done anything. I tell her that I would love to do more than open my wallet. She peers at me for a moment before saying, “I’ll work on it.”.

**Jeremy**

I’m glad that I came with James. The divorce is finally done, irreconcilable differences…more like bullshit. We had problems before the fame it just seems that fame had magnified it. When I covered sporting events and had to leave the family for stretches of time that never seemed to bother her. When Top Gear began again it still wasn’t a problem but a few years ago all of a sudden it was. I’ve always said and written what was on my mind but now with the media picking apart _everything_ apparently I’m an embarrassment to Francie. During one of our _discussions_ we had while in separation she hissed, “When are you going to be honest?” I’m still trying to work that one out. So I sip champagne, tonight is not the night to get drunk out of my mind. After a swig I put the glass down disentangle myself from the co-chairs and find James. He’s talking to a woman and when our eyes meet it’s with a flash of relief. We walk through the crowd and talk to the Soldiers.

Soon it’s the hour for us to leave and we do. I find I’m sad truly sad. James is near me, “I’ll drive.” He murmurs and retrieves the keys from the valet. The combination of the divorce, those wounded lads and James’ kindness has me tearing up. James notices but pretends not to.

”It’s late, you’re drunk, stay at mine” he rumbles.

I’m about to protest loudly that I’m not drunk but the offer of staying at a place that isn’t empty is just too tempting so I just nod. When we get to his house I look around and notice that it’s neater than usual. I nearly trip over a box and James hurries to move it.

”What’s that?”

”Nothing, it’s nothing going to put in the bin.” James says with a wave as he switches on lights.

I’m intrigued by this box and want learn what it contains and why is James getting rid of it. He merely points and I make my way to the spare bed. In the morning there is no hangover and I actually wake before James. I’m reminded of Christmas and I open the box and look at what it holds. It’s music and I’ve known James long enough to recognize his penmanship. All this work is original and—his. Why would he want to get rid of it?

”Discovered the mysteries of the universe?” His voice startles me. I simply look up at him. He gets down on the floor beside me. “Why are you getting rid of all this? I thought you loved music?” The totals tally in my head. My wife has left me, I just came from an event for men and women just a few years older than my son have been maimed and now James is throwing out his music. Everything seems fucked--I feel like crying.

**James**

Jeremy seems stricken over my clearing out. I remembered his near meltdown in the car. “This just scrap… things I had jotted down but never completed or needed tweaking.” I grab a piece of paper, “I was trying to create a waltz and I did but it’s a rip off of someone else who’s been dead for yonks.” I pull another piece of music, “This one is original but it reminds me of that advert for tampons”

Jeremy’s eyes roll back somewhat in relief as he sighs. I stand up and offer my hand and help him up. “Come on, I’ll make us a cuppa and we’ll chat.”

Jeremy tells me about the ugliness of his divorce and that loneliness, something he never had to deal with, is something he now lives with. I wave my hand in the direction of the box. “I had a bit of a mope the other day. I like my life but I wonder could I have made it as a musician? Could I have let music be my life?” Could I actually tell you…I silently add.

Jeremy snickers, “Quite a pair we are…by the way think your hair looks shit.”

I snap a tea towel at him and he laughs.

Two weeks after the gala I’m asked to visit the rehabilitation wing of a hospital. Bernice had made some phone calls and I’ve been asked to volunteer with music therapy. I find the day room and the counselors point me to an old upright piano. I see a score of nursery rhymes and other common songs. I’m directed to play and the patients try to sing along. I dutifully play every Saturday for another two weeks until I’m summoned to an office.

I haven’t felt this nervous since the Chelsea Flower Show. I really want to know what I’ve done wrong. I relax a bit when I see Bernice. “Mr. May, this is Dr. Janet Fleishman.”

”Hello”

The physician shakes my hand and indicates to a chair, ”Mr. May we are delighted with your support to our program but we would like to ask you if you would mind becoming a counselor?”

”I beg your pardon”

Bernice points to a stack of files, “That’s the list of patients who have had musical background. Some have lost limbs, some have lost sight but all of them express a desire for music. With your educational background we thought you could make a musical troupe.”

Dr. Fleishman continued, “It would be good for these patients to engage in social activity. Being soldiers they are used to being in a cohesive group some of the depression soldiers experience is due to loss of this group feeling.”

Bernice stands up and rubs her shoulder, “It would also mean a great deal of publicity and we need that. Programs for Soldiers are being cut and we can keep the spotlight just a little while longer…

I don’t even recognize my voice when I whisper, “I’ll do it.”

**Jeremy**

Since we’re not to the taping portion of the series we’re mainly working out of the BBC main offices. I’m in early; Andy wants me to review a storyboard. To my surprise Slow is here too. He’s cloistered in an empty conference room, on the table in front of him are a dozen pens in various colours of ink, pieces of Velcro, foam and a digital recorder. I don’t even bother to ask.

**James**

Robert, Menah, Dale, Paul, Laura, Neil, Eric, another Eric, John, and Colin. These were the patients who wanted to play again and it was my job to help them. Neil and Menah had been rendered blind by and IED blast. While Big Eric, John and Dale had lost hands. The others had mental difficulty mainly with short-term memory.

All had played music and all were well beyond grade 1. Luckily for me they all at one time were proficient in piano. I’ve fixed on bits of Velcro to middle C so Neil and Mena can find it. Foam goes onto other keys for reference. The ten do well with the basic scale exercises. I give Big Eric, John and Dale chord exercises; I give the digital recorder to Mena and Neil having dictated a simple score and have them play it. The others are given each a different of sheet music to play and work on memorization. Over the coming weeks they make tremendous progress but with all great projects there are teething problems.

**Jeremy**

I heard rumors that May had been involved in a fight and I ignored them. James would resort to dueling pistols not fisticuffs. However, when he enters the portakabin and I can see the butterfly closure over his eyebrow and his eye is shade of purplish yellow I’m gob smacked. I yank him into a conference room, “What the bloody hell happened?”

“It’s nothing”

_When are you going to be honest?_ Francie’s voice again.

I don’t dignify him or my mind with a response, I merely glare at him with a look I reserve for my children. Like my children he squirms and eventually tells me.

“I’ve been volunteering with that wounded veterans group… teaching music. I’ve been warned that some of the Soldiers would have outbursts” He gestures to his head, “this is from an outburst.”

Before I know it my hand is brushing the hair out of his eye so I can inspect the wound myself. My hand lingers but there is no protest in fact he leans into my touch. I finally drop my hand and go rummage for some tea, while the kettle is bubbling away I find out what James did to warrant a beating.

I’m still don’t get it so I ask, “So Eric, the big one, has a prosthetic arm and smacked you with it.”

James nods, “Got tired of playing Ravel and I didn’t help by not having any other pieces. Demanded I give him a ‘normal’ piece. I asked him to settle down and that was the wrong thing to say. As soon as he did it he was so remorseful. God Jezza I’ve never seen a bloke that big weep like that.”

“Christ” I mutter silently the rage I felt at someone attacking James has quickly been replaced by a sick feeling. I shake it off, “good thing we’re not taping.”

James snorts but there is a bit of mischief in his eye, “Good thing.”

**James**

One perk about being clobbered by Big Eric is that everyone is keener to listen to my suggestions and I think I have a good one. I propose a piece of work by Albert Lavignac, I play the piece through a battered record player. When the looks of shock wear off I tell them my plan of how to execute it.

I think it will take six weeks to learn. I’m countered with three weeks. So I make a deal if they can learn it in three weeks then they can do another piece whatever they want. The staff tells me that my group has commandeered the dayroom. Fleishman is impressed with their progress in other areas. Neil and Menah are finally going to Braille classes and the others are making mental progress. Short-term memory is being boosted and the music classes are spurring attendance in others. I’m elated; through it all I’m still authoring automotive columns and researching for the next series of Top Gear. I tell this to Jeremy over dinner.

****

****

****

**Jeremy**

I’m at James’ house, I have cobbled together a video along the same lines as the VW add we did together for one of Andy’s suggestions. Currently James is making dinner as I’m plugging in the laptop to show him. He watches the video and makes some suggestions, which I find insightful. He asks to watch it again and then asks, “what is the song”

I remove the CD from the laptop and hand it James, “Oh it’s Emily’s CD, a band called Em Gee Em Tea or something.

“I like it” James says as he places the CD on the counter carefully. I’m loath to admit it but I like the song too but I hate the lyrics. “The words don’t seem to mix well with the video content. Plus this song reveals how old I am, I finally googled the lyrics since I thought the singer was saying, ‘Enjoy yourself’ not ‘Control yourself’”.

His barking laugh fills the room and I resist the urge to smack him. Nevertheless we both tuck into our meal with a smile on our faces. After dinner James hands me an envelope, “I was hoping you would come.”

I spy him in mock suspicion as I grope for my reading glasses; I then thumb open the gilded envelop. Inside are a neon green wristband and a piece of thick parchment; in bold black print I see an invitation to a benefit for the Soldiers. “Of course I’ll go.”

The night of the concert approached and I’m shaken that I’m a bit jealous when I see Hammond. He’s here with Mindy and when he offers me his hand I see that his wristband is orange while mine is green. It has me thinking of the colors. Richard Mindy and I are seated together in a row. There is a large view screen dangling down. A hiss of feedback is heard before a woman makes her way to the podium. Ladies and Gentlemen I’m Dr. Janet Fleishman. Tonight you will be treated to a variety of music from our veterans. Many of you maybe thinking, ‘what’s so special about that?’ hopefully this brief video will give you all the information you need. The lights dimmed and the film began. A voice over begins. Actually the voices seem to over lap.

__

_I lost my sight._

_I was blinded_

_My right hand is gone_

_My left arm._

_My left arm at the elbow._

_I have trouble remembering._

_I get lost inside shopping centers then I panic_

_I want to be who I was._

A low resolution camera captures an IED explosion I recognize the scene it’s Iraq.

Next we hear James’ voice. “After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music. “ 

The scene shifts and we see James playing the piano while soldiers try to sing nursery rhymes. It’s heartbreaking. Fleishman’s voice gives a clinical overview of how music actually allows the brain to heal, to form new connections. We see James aiding Neil and Mena with the Velcro/foam piano and see practice sessions as they listen to James; dictation of a score and then they play it. Fleishmans voice is then heard discussing rebuilding the cohesiveness of the ten Soldiers listed. We hear about psychological benefit we also see the attack on James.

“Eric what’s the matter?” James’ asks

“I don’t want to play this” The large soldier nearly screams as his prosthetic arm points to the sheet music.

In the video we can see James’ jaw tense then move from side to side. In the dark Richard shoots me a knowing look.

“All right Settle down I’ll get you something else”

“I want normal music”

James is a bad liar and to make it worse his face hides nothing. The camera catches his expression that he has no music for Eric and Eric sees it.

The strike is immediate. The soldiers prosthetic limb cuts across James face. Another scuffle takes place as the other Eric, little Eric, moves to restrain. Laura who was a combat nurse goes to asses James while Paul explains the on goings to Neil and Mena who are shouting to demand what is going on.

The tension in the auditorium rises as the video fades out from the sobbing Big Eric. Next there is cut scene, James’ eye has been closed but the clothes reveal it’s still the same day, he sits next to Big Eric at the piano and they play together. As they play they smile and all is forgiven.

The last thing heard is another quote from James, “If a composer could say what he had to say in words he would not bother trying to say it in music.”

The screen lifts and in the center of the stage is a grand piano. Two-uniformed stroll to the piano, push the bench out of the way and sit on the floor. The man farthest on the left plays one note quickly joined by the woman who also sits and play another note. More people come one is two are escorted by James and I know that this is Mena and Neil. He guides their hands to a certain spot and they join in. James is the only one not in uniform he wears a tuxedo suit paired with a black long-sleeved shirt, his attire reminds me of James’ AlpineStars racing suit. He moves behind the mob of people and adds his hands as well. The piano music is building; it’s amazing that one piano is making this much sound. But with 11 people on it the piano is bound to boom. I remember that the name of this piece is Galop-Marche and it’s so fitting. The notes are marching up the piano keys each soldier is a step. It’s cheerful yet commanding. It reminds me of Calliope music at a fairground. It’s obvious this is James’ choice the musicians are having fun with it. The audience is bobbing to the music enchanted by it’s spell.

There is a lull in the March and Mena leaves the piano she is given a rousing applause. Other musicians remove their hands while the others continue the music decrescendos leaving all but three James, Laura and Paul. Then James’ nods and the soldiers scramble back to the piano for the thundering finish. When the last note reverberates through the hall I don’t remember leaping to me feet I’m only aware that I’m not alone.

The next piece is a duet by Big Eric and Dale performed a “normal” piece, Schubert’s Serenade, since Eric had a left hand and Dale had a right. There was actually a laugh before a soul stirring performance by Neil. The Velcro had fallen off the piano a piece of cello tape fixed the problem.

When the concert was done the eruption of people was like that at an Opera. I was not going to shout “Bravo!” The soldiers took their curtain call receiving more applause. James stood off to one side merely watching them. Big Eric moved to the podium.

“We would like to say thank you. And before you leave ladies and gentlemen may we implore you to implore Mr. May to play something.”

At this I do shout, as do others. James sees Richard and me and we have known him long enough to know his stare means we’re in trouble but we don’t care. He walks to the piano like a man being led to the gallows but he makes it and sits. The soldiers are lined behind the grand piano. James cocks his head to the side and plays. I have no clue what he is playing but it is fast. I hear a whisper behind me that it’s Chopin 16.

I’m beginning to think Captain Slow is the wrong name. In less than a minute and thirty seconds it’s over. Annoyingly Francie’s voice echoes in my head.

_When are you going to be honest?_

I tell my mind to shut up.

**James**

I want to murder Big Eric but at the same time I want to give him a million pounds. At this moment I know I could’ve made it as a musician. The auditorium has emptied into the adjoining reception hall. I hang back, I want the spotlight to be on the ten musicians where it should be. Nonetheless Jeremy and the Hammonds find me.

“That was brilliant mate!” Richard chirps as he slaps my shoulder.

“Wonderful James” Mindy tells me as she kisses my cheek.

“You were really very good” Jeremy tells me; his voice is low which means he’s genuine.

I want to stay with Jeremy, Richard and Mindy but I’m pulled away by Bernice. I talk awkwardly with people who really have no clue about the program they have just witnessed but nonetheless have ridiculous sums of money. I smile and nod since these are essentially the punters who will keep the funding going.

**Jeremy**

Richard and Mindy have left, they need to relieve their babysitter. I’m standing alone until Bernice finds me. We talk about the concert, I see Mena standing with a woman who I don’t recognize what does capture my attention is the green wristband around the anonymous woman’s wrist. “She did good” I motion towards Mena and Bernice nods. “Yes she’s come along way, this progress she’s made is allowing her to go home soon. It helps that she’ll be going home to Suzanne.”

I’m not that stupid to ask if Suzanne is her sister, anyone can see the love between them. Instead I ask about something that has been niggling at me, “What do the colored wristbands mean?”

Bernice is taken aback for a moment but recovers, “Oh orange wristbands are for the general guests and the green are for the loved ones of the performers.”

_When are you going to be honest?_

“Like a backstage pass?” I murmur.

Bernice seems to see through me, “Something like that.”

An hour later James finds me, “Can you get me out of here?”

I see that he seems a bit deflated, the high of the performance wearing off coupled with the stress of preparation has exhausted him.

I drive through the streets with radio on low, James has passed out in the passenger seat. A traffic signal turns amber normally I would gun it but not tonight. I slow the car and stop at the red, I turn to look James

_When are you going to be honest?_

“Now” I mutter in the quiet space of the car.

When we reach Hammersmith I reach over and wake James. He rubs his eyes and it reminds me of Katya of how she would wake from a nap. “Home already?”

I scoff and drum a pattern on the steering wheel. James’ hand is on the handle and he pulls it the night air sweeps in. “Actually I have something for you.”

I put the car in park and don’t give a shit if I get fined by the council for parking on the street.

The lighting in James’ house is subdued and he doesn’t seem to bother with the lights I merely follow James dodging low tables and piles of things. We come to the music area and he hands me a stack of papers.

“What is it?”

“I transcribed that song you like that way there is no lyrics”

“Play it for me?”

James switches on a small lamp and places the music on the piano stand. He sits on the piano bench and I stand behind him. The techno dance song sounds a tad forlorn on the piano. I’m so jealous that he can do this the dots on the paper mean something to him. While I play drums and keep a beat it’s never going to be a melody.

I move to sit next to him on the bench and he merely plays on, when he gets to the chorus he quietly sings, “Control yourself. Take only what you need from it.”

I can’t take it, I clamp a hand around his forearm and he stops. His eyes find mind and it’s time I’m honest. I lean forward and kiss him.

He doesn’t fight me and somehow that breaks me.

**James**

Jeremy’s lips are soft and a surprise. I return the pressure and he emits a sob. I pull him to me and try to soothe. His hands are fisted in my tuxedo jacket as if it were a life belt.

He gasps and I seize the moment and introduce my tongue. We battle for short while before he pulls away breathing hard. “I can’t lie anymore James…I want you.”

I want to smack him, to scream that I want him too. Somehow my tongue seems to still be in Jeremy’s mouth so I push up his sleeve revealing the neon green wristband. He looks down at it and something must click in his head for he dives at me again.

The piano bench is hardly an ideal place for snogging this is proven further when it begins to tip dangerously. I stand and fist his shirtfront; the expression on his face is the one he had when I stuck a machete in his face. Pure shock, he can’t believe what I’m doing. The shock morphs into longing, I drag him to me and kiss him again before pulling him along to my bed.

His jacket whispers to the floor as I push it off his shoulders, I curse, as I can’t seem to undo the knot of his bowtie. I nearly laugh as one of his long fingers simply hooks around the knot and it slips free. His hands are not idle either, I feel his fingers curl around my shoulder blades and I never knew it could feel so good.

**Jeremy**

Christ this is amazing. James is amazing, I can feel the heat emanating from his body and I burrow into it. Clothes are flying into places and when I look down and see a black puddle of trousers. It seems James’ attire was all black; his boxers accent his light skin. His fingers trace the waistband of my unmentionables and my hips snap forward. I feel the burn of shame creep up my cheeks but I’m drawn into a kiss before I can mutter an apology.

All the clothes are gone and I feel a rush I haven’t felt since my youth. All I want to do is hit the accelerator and go, go, go! Evidentially James feels this way too and we become a tangle of limbs and somehow mercifully make it onto the bed and not the floor. Instead of the soft curves of breasts meeting my chest it’s more muscular and just as erotic.

There’s a nudge of knee against my thigh, when it happens again I finally get the hint and widen the distance between them. James crawls into that space and we are flush against one another. He pushes downward and I lose my mind.

**James**

Jeremy Clarkson, the man who is always in control whether it be an argument or a car is losing control in my bed. It’s a high better than any performance. I don’t think it can get any better but it does when he pulls me to him and rolls. Now I’m underneath him and his hips push mine. I throw my arm around his shoulders and push up. The friction being caused is perfect. I answer another push from Jeremy and he draws in a quick breath. I tighten my grip and let my own hips do whatever they want and we are lost.

**Jeremy**

The six-foot sinus I’m sleeping next to is snoring, “May turn over” I bark and he does. I scoot over to claim the sliver of space his back has vacated and move in behind him so he can’t roll back over. This way I get the best of both worlds, James to keep me warm and no snoring so I can sleep.

Over the next few weeks the press got one thing right, the concert had been a shot in the arm for the charities for the Armed Forces. Offers for TV specials were pouring in and James ignored them.

“What they need is more counselors not some sodding reality TV rubbish.” James had yelled into the phone. After that I sent him to the pub, I had to see Francie. James only got his dander up when something he truly loved was being threatened.

Invariably another producer phoned wanting to film “The Ten” as they had become known so I gave them my opinion on the subject. There were no more phone calls that day.

Francie and I had arranged to meet at a restaurant. Emily was to be visiting Germany for a school trip and needed my signature on the forms. There were other various things for me to sign and I had some papers for Francie. We had agreed that neither myself or she be the executor of the University funds. When the time came for higher education the children would simply put in the requests with solicitor and the funds would be distributed. This way no one could say we were using the children for our own purposes. Also we both knew that anger from our children would be coming in some form or another and this would ease that.

As is my custom my sleeves are rolled up along my forearms. Francie’s eyes lock on my wrist. I’m still wearing the green wristband. My eyes meet hers and I don’t know what she sees but she exhales sharply through her nose.

She reaches over and covers my hand with hers, I look at her and she’s happy, “Finally you’re honest.”

**Author's Note:**

> The first quote is by Aldous Huxley. The second is by Mahler.


End file.
